"On the steps of St. Roch! Fire!" he commanded, and the two guns poured forth a great volley of iron, mowing down the human harvest before them like scythes. The semi-circle of Sectionists on the church steps seemed to sink to the ground in a body for an instant, then more sprang forward and filled the vacant spaces. Jean's heart grew sick at the sight of this carnage, but he worked away at his duties, the perspiration streaming down his face and matting his black curls. Just as Prevôt was about to touch the match for the second charge, he clapped his hand to his side, gave a low groan, and sank in a heap by the gun. Jean's heart fairly stood still with horror and pity, but some blind instinct caused him to look up at one of the houses. There in a window, stood, or rather hung, La Souris, his rat's face twisted into a horrible smile, a smoking musket in his hands. He was about to reload for another charge, and it was evident that the effort cost him considerable suffering in his scorched back. As Jean still looked, he finished and pointed the musket directly at the boy by the gun. The natural instinct of self-preservation prompted this untried lad to take to his heels and get to shelter at once, but a second thought brought back Bonaparte's final warning,--"Stick to the gun, lad, if it costs you your life!" "I'll stick!" he muttered, and clinched his teeth on the determination. Seizing the match from Prevôt's relaxed grasp, he blew on it to rekindle its flame, while he watched out of the corner of his eye the careful aim that La Souris was striving to accomplish with his none too steady grip. Then he laid that match to the touchhole and another rain of iron swept down the street. At this moment a regiment of Volunteers turned into the Rue du Dauphin at a run. "Charge the steps of St. Roch!" ordered Bonaparte, appearing again very near the guns. As the regiment charged down the street with fixed bayonets, Bonaparte turned his eyes to Jean, and saw the boy standing bravely by the gun, but with his eyes fixed in agony on a window above and close by. Following his glance, the general quickly perceived the cause of his distress. La Souris, having by this time arranged his aim to his satisfaction, was just about to pull the trigger. It took Bonaparte but a second to snatch a musket from a passing soldier, aim it at the window--and fire! Citizen Coudert's musket clattered from the window to the ground, and he himself dropped from sight on the other side of the sill, and was seen and heard no more! After that the general wheeled his horse, galloped down the Rue de Rivoli, and Jean was left alone, dazed and thankful. The remainder of the conflict he could never describe, for he did not see it. The Rue du Dauphin was swept clear of the enemy; if any Sectionists remained alive on the steps of St. Roch, they had taken refuge within the church, and the tide of battle surged to another quarter, raging down the Rue St. Honoré.